


Valentine

by sheriffbucky (pluckybucky)



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst, Gen, jack is depressed and realizes helping people is cool, jack panics easily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 07:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17483381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluckybucky/pseuds/sheriffbucky
Summary: Jack helps a woman rescue her beloved, and Jack has a choice to make.





	Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> this took me a long while to write, and i am very tired.

In the days of old, on western soil, there has always been bloodshed. Brothers, fathers and sons will be pitted against each other in a meaningless effort to prove a point. Brothers, fathers and sons will be maimed, and dead before the sun can rise on their pale, vacant faces. Sisters, mothers and daughters will fear for the worst, praying for the soldiers at the frontlines, and praying for themselves in these dangerous times. On this western soil, there will always be a corrupt overseer, rotting the masses, and slaughtering whatever beauty was left, and there will always be those who attempt to fight against the invisible eyes commanding us all. They will say it’s a fight for freedom, a fight for all men and women, but their speeches run cold, as the souls of man will always fade, replaced with the greed they say they despise. On western soil, sons and daughters will grow up without a family, and always beg for the one question they can manage through their gritted, crooked teeth.  _ Why  _ is the question they ask, and they beg, and plead for the answer, yet all they get is the silence they’ve received all their life.

 

In these days, brothers, fathers and sons will be pitted against each other, all in some effort to prove a point, men will kill each other claiming revenge, vengeance boils through their stomach, through their throat, and out like bile, leaving nothing in their body but the cold, empty feeling of what they’ve done. In these times, people will hear it in the back of their minds,  _ Vengeance is a fool’s game,  _ words repeated to them by the fallen brothers and fallen fathers, yet the thought escapes their minds when their finger is on the trigger, and the red in their eyes never truly fades, as a ruthless, pained man is born from the death of another. 

 

But, on the blood-stained soil, where brothers and fathers and sons look each other in the eyes, there is also light, and love. Putting their guns on the ground, embracing each other in their arms, and crying out to the heavens, “We’ve had enough!” It’s this light that has left the eyes of men who have nothing else to lose, and they’re just another pawn in this endless game. 

 

And now, in the heart of Valentine, Jack Marston will have a choice to make.

* * *

 

 

“Stay here, girl,” Jack says to his horse, Rachel, leaving her hitched to the post outside the general store. He has come all this way from Blackwater, because something in him told him to. He’s been travelling from town to town in some search for meaning, and with each and every town, he’s found nothing. Maybe it’s a fruitless endeavor, but he knows this is what he needs. So, he’s in Valentine. He tips his hat the man passing by him, and walks away from Rachel, hopping up onto the wooden walkway that extends to every building. He intends to head into the general store, yet he hesitates. Something urges him to the saloon, a urge he has yet to conquer, but he shakes it off. He enters the general store, and he’s out in no time, one hand holding a can of beans, and the other a bottle of Guarma Rum. It’s early, meaning not too many people are out and about, which Jack is nearly thankful for. He returns to Rachel, packing up his purchases, and gives her a pat.

 

“So, do you want to get out of here, or stay a little while longer?” He asks the horse, and she gives him a huff, ears flicking. “Alright, alright. You can relax, and I’ll find something to do around here. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?” Jack leaves her again, scanning the town. It’s small, and gives Jack the faintest familiar feel. He nearly begins walking towards the saloon until he hears a loud slam of a door. He whips around, and stares wide-eyed at the woman storming from the sheriff’s office. He takes a look at her, with her dirtied up purple dress and blonde hair wrapped tightly into a bun.

 

“Useless bastards,” The woman sobs, “Why should I bother with you lawmen?” She stomps away, tears streaming down her face and bumps right into Jack. 

 

“Uh,” Jack stutters, “Are you alright ma’am?” he asks. The woman turns around, with a flabbergasted look on her face. “Do I look okay?” She strains, eyes squinted at him. Her expression softens as she realizes her tone. “I’m sorry, you ain’t apart of this, I shouldn’t be yellin’ at you.” She turns around, ready to continue on her way, but something in Jack urges him. He chalks it up to the Marston in him as he matches her pace. “Is there anything I can do to help? Seemed the law ain’t giving you the time of day.” He says, and she gives him the quietest chuckle. “Glad to know some people know how bad the law can be. It’s, uh, it’s my beloved. My love was kidnapped last night, and I tried going to the sheriff but he’s a hardass.” Her eyes wander to the ground, and to Jack. She notices the gun on his belt, and reaches his gaze. “Are you a gunslinger, sir?” She asks him. He’s taken aback at first, but responds. “No, ma’am I, uh, I just go where the wind takes me.” She sighs, but nods. “I tried to stop it, but I was knocked out in my own home. When I awoke, my love was taken...They want  _ payment,  _ or something, and I don’t know what to do. We have no money.”

 

The pain in her eyes, Jack can’t help but feel her pain. A woman separated from her other half? It’s inhumane. He lets out a long sigh as he rubs the back of his neck. “I want to help you,” he says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

Instantly, he sees her smile, and the empty look in her eyes replaced with a sparkle. “Sir,” she whimpers, “Thank you, with all my heart, thank you.” Something about it makes Jack feel warm, as he returns the smile. She gasps, and begins to rummage through her pocket. “Ah, hold on, you’ll need this. It’s the ransom note, they said they’d be taking my love to Annesburg, it’s past the Kamassa River, in the east. You’ve heard of it, right?” Jack gives her a comforting smile. “Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ve been there before.” It’s a lie, actually, he never actually went to Annesburg, but he knows of it. She looks relieved. 

 

He takes the note in his hands, and gives her a nod, “I’ll bring your love back, you don’t gotta worry bout a thing.” He tells her, and she smiles. “You’re a hero, sir. It’s rare you find such fine men.” Jack shrugs. “I’m just doing my part. I’ll be back soon.” He tells her, as he jogs back to Rachel, untying her from the hitching post and patting her. “Why,” he murmurs, “Why did I do that, girl? I could’ve just been on my way. I guess we got a mission now.” He climbs on top of her, and the woman in the middle of town gives him a wave. Jack blinks, and stops Rachel, “Ma’am, what’s your name?” He asks. She looks surprised, but answers him. “Charlotte, sir, my name is Charlotte Rainer.” He nods, and spurs Rachel on, riding out of town. 

 

From memory, he recalls Annesburg being far from Valentine, so if his memory serves him right, they’ll be there in awhile. He retrieves his compass, takes a glance at it, and continues on. He leans forward, returning the compass to his pocket, and continues to spur Rachel on now they’re out of town. “Go, girl,” he urges, “Work ‘ya damn nag, we got a hostage to save!” 

  
  
  
  


And so, through the Heartlands of New Hanover, Jack passes by places he's sworn he has seen before. The place they call Horseshoe Outlook peers to him as he passes by it, beckoning him to a better time, yet he continues on. 

 

In the middle of the night, he camps, and and in the dawn, he packs up and continues on. He nods at strangers passing him by, he whistles to himself, he watches the passing wildlife, and in the solitude of the day, he sings to himself a song he can barely remember from his childhood.

 

“Ring-ding-do,” he repeats, mumbling the rest. “Now what is that? Nuh, nuh, nuh, like a pussycat, nuh, nuh, nuh split in two.” He pauses, as reflecting on the song he can barely remember, he realizes it’s a song about sex. He quiets down, for some reason embarrassed, yet there was no one around to judge him. Maybe it’s instinctive, because in any other time, he can imagine his ma smacking him upside the head. He smiles, for some reason, at that idea. He thinks about his younger days, how near the end of his teenage years, he found himself begging for trouble. Talking back, sarcasm dripping from his voice, it was the angst of a strange upbringing. His smile fades, and he sighs. 

 

He wants to give his parents the benefit of the doubt, but looking back, he realizes he truly never had a friend growing up. Well, he never had one on two legs. In this, he can find solace in the people he could actually remember. The O’Driscoll who liked horses, whos name Jack can’t remember. The man he believes was named Andrew, who taught him fishing and was gone without a trace, the old man Jack remembered as Homer, but some part of him knew it was wrong, who helped him read. Jack wonders how he became like this. He remembers that he liked flowers, and animals, now, his interests are close to zero, and his one hobby is the bar.

 

And so, he drinks from the rum he bought, drowns his memories to silence, and continues on.

 

After hours, and hours of travelling, he slows Rachel to a crawl as he finally retrieves the ransom note left to Ms. Rainer. He unfolds the letter, and scans it.

 

“Rainer,” He read, “We warned you, and now you’ve brought us to this. You want to see your love again? Pay up what you owe to Duck’s gang in Annesburg.”

 

“Duck,” Jack repeats to himself. That’s stupid, yet no stupider than Van Der Linde, or O’Driscoll. He hasn’t heard of them, but he is an isolated hermit. They sound confident in their writing, so Jack can already tell they’re probably a gang of fools. He knows this’ll be a piece of cake, maybe not what his Mama would’ve wanted, but he’s doing it. According to the note, the Rainers are just as foolish as Duck’s gang, if it’s telling the truth. Taking money from a gang is just asking for trouble, Jack thinks, It don’t matter what situation your in, you’re an idiot if you do it, but even so, Jack’s helping them. 

 

And so, he rides on through New Hanover, through the prairies, and through the forests. 

 

He’s closer to Annesburg now, as he slowly rides through the most delicate of forests, with leaves scattered across the old path. Jack whistles to himself, and pats his leg along to the tune. He had exhausted Rachel earlier, so to make it easier on her, he’s taking it slow through this winding forest, yet as the silence brings peace, something feels off to the boy.

 

Out of the bushes and into the path, two rather ragged men strut out. Jack quickly brings Rachel to a halt, despite her whining, and glares at the two men.

 

“Howdy, gentlemen,” Jack loudly says, “Fine day for a stroll, right?” 

 

The man on the right barks out a laugh, while the one on the right nods. “Fine day, indeed, boy.” The man on the right suddenly whistles, as men quickly run through the foliage, and into the path, one man quickly snatching the reins from Jack’s hands, keeping him and Rachel from escaping. “I got the horse,” the man hollers.

 

The man on the left snaps, and every one of the folk reaches behind their backs to retrieve rifles strapped to their backs, pointing them to Jack. Jack squints at the two gentlemen in front of him, and blinks. “Hand over all your cash,” The man on the left says.

 

“There ain’t any reason to do this, men. None at all. You want money? Get a job.” He states it loud and clear, for everyone to hear. “Don’t try to weasel your way outta this one, kid,” The man on the right says. 

 

It’s a perfect silence, Jack thinks, as he slowly raises his hands in the air, scanning the men around him. He gulps, his fingers twitching. He lets out a breath, and lets the world spin slower, as he snatches his gun from it’s holster, and sends bullets flying into the skulls of the two men blocking his path. He kicks the man forcefully away from his horse, allowing him to gain control of Rachel once again, and screams for her to go. She lets out a neigh, speeding off away from the gang, who fire off shots into Jack’s direction, yet only barely miss him. He turns to them, attempting to put down as many as he could. A bullet flies through one of their shoulders, and he decides that’s fine as he reholsters his gun, grabs her reins, and urges her to go faster. 

 

“Good girl,” He says, “Work!” 

He’s not sure if the men are able to follow him, but he doesn’t exactly care, as his primary objective is to just go, and hopefully lose them. It’s not his first time being ambushed, yet for some reason, he’s panting and distressed, just like a child watching his father gun down the men who called him Marston, so he rides, and he rides, and he rides, two more men on his bloodstained  résumé .

 

Hours pass, and Jack has finally slowed Rachel down, yet paranoia keeps his guard up. He grips Rachel’s reins in his white-knuckled hands, and breaths. There isn’t reason to panic, he tells himself, it’s okay. He questions himself, why must he do that? When he was younger, he knew his father could take on an army and not break a sweat, so why must he be terrified of confrontation? He punishes himself mentally, tells himself to stop, that father would look down on him, and it pains him to say it, yet he forces himself to believe it. Be a man, he screams at himself, and he takes another sip of his rum, and in the far-off fields, Jack watches the coyotes watching him from a distance, and the rabbits scurry cross his path, and it brings him the peace he wishes alcohol would bring him. 

 

Now, on the horizon, he notices the town he believes to be Annesburg. Something about it brings a faint memory to his mind, and not the best kind. A woman, clutching him close on a horse, with her yellow patterned dress, he knew it wasn’t Ma. He isn’t too sure what that memory relates to, but it’s just another invasive thought in his already nerve-racked brain. 

 

He gives Rachel a pat, running his hand along her neck, giving her a thank you for making it. It’s not the biggest town, which gives it this quaint feel, contrasted by the stench of oil in his nose. Looking past the dock, he notices the unusual sheen against the waves, as a small boat comes in. Jack notices a man leaning against the post office, and gives him a whistle.

 

“S’cuse me, mister,” Jack calls over, “Have you heard of a man called Duck? Or anyone of his goons?” The man gives a nonchalant shrug, and chuckles. “Those kids? Yeah, we’ve heard of ‘em. They think they’re somethin’ big, but they’re pretty harmless. You got beef with ‘em? Ask around, you’ll sniff ‘em out eventually.” He says, and Jack gives him a nod. “Thank you,” he says.

 

Trotting through town, he takes everything in. He’s heard about this place, being a mining town. Folks going into those caves and not coming back out, all for a nickel and dime. 

 

He hitches Rachel outside the gunsmith and quickly goes about asking around. 

 

The gunsmith tells him to ask the man at the docks, the man at the docks tell him to ask the woman near the railroad tracks, and the woman tells him to ask the newspaper boy, and by the time Jack reaches the newspaper boy, his patience is ticking thin. He wonders if his father had to do this sort of thing a lot.

 

“Hey,” Jack calls out, catching the boys attention. The boy, who can’t be older than 13, holds out the paper in his hand and yells to Jack. “Read all about it, mister, tensions are risin’ in Europe, they’re sayin’. Some guy killed another guy!” The boy says, and Jack places a boot up on a lone box the boy probably used as a stand occasionally. “Mighty interestin’, but that happens all over the world. I ain’t here for that, though. I got questions.” 

 

The boy appears frightened, and nearly takes a step back. “Awh, did my pa get into trouble with the law again?” Jack, taken aback at first, shakes his head. “No, I wanna know about this so-called Duck’s gang.” The boy eases, and straightens his back. “My brother’s apart of ‘em! They ain’t too bad, if you get to know ‘em.” 

 

Jack leans forward, resting his arms on his knee. “And you know where your brother is?” The boy, like a light bulb over his head, changes his attitude. He rubs his fingers together, and leans forward. “I might know, sir, but I need somethin’ to jog my memory.” Jack glares. “I ain’t playin’ around boy, your brother ‘n his people kidnapped an innocent man for some cash.” The boy isn’t fazed. “It’s a tough world, mister! I ain’t judgin’ nobodies ways for money. You gonna pay up or what?” Jack lets out a groan, nearly submitting to the child’s will, but he remains strong. “You want to test my patience, kid? I wouldn’t advise it.” He growls, nonchalantly pulling his coat back, revealing his holster and trusty revolver. The boy goes wide-eyed. “You wouldn’t shoot a boy, now, would’ya mister?” Jack puffs his chest out, imitating the best gunslinger he knew. “Try me, boy,” he says, and the boy buckles. “Alright!” He shrieks. “My brother’s in the minin’ caves! He’s workin’ there to make some extra cash! You’ll find ‘em there, now get away from me, ‘fore I start callin’ police!” 

 

Jack smiles, and straightens up, returning to a natural posture, and gives the boy the tip of his worn hat. “Thank ‘ya kindly, boy.” Jack says, and starts his hike towards the mining caves, but not before flicking a quarter to the boy, watching it land against the boy’s forehead, and onto the wooden platform he stands on.

 

It doesn’t take too long for Jack to approach the caves, where men thick and thin, adorned in their mining caps, greet him. He asks where the paper boy’s brother is, and they all point to the scrawny kid, only a bit younger than Jack moving boxes from the cave to the outside. The boy with his scraggly hair, coughs into his gloved fist, leaning forward with his hand on his knee. His cough, which could be sickness or lungs full of coal, echoes through the outside world, and Jack hollers him over with a whistle. The boy comes to his senses, and looks at Jack, holding his hand over his eyes to block out the sun. “Howdy, mister,” the boy says.

 

Jack tucks his thumb into his belt, and with his other hand, he scratches his chin. “You know of Duck’s gang?” He asks, and the mining boy rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, Duck’s been helpin’ me with cash recently. What of it?” Jack should’ve known, so he lets out a long sigh and leans forward, bringing his voice to a hush. “Where are they holed up? They got a man that ain’t hurt nobody, and I’m here to fix that.” The mining boy bites the inside of his cheek. “Man? Whatch’ya talkin’ about, sir?” Jack glares. “Rainer. I’m here to pay the ransom.” Is all he states, and the boy tilts his head for a second, before gasping. “Oh, oh! Duck ‘n the boys took Joey down to the Tradin’ Post down south for a chat.” 

 

Jack had to give the boy credit, he was a good, immature snitch. He gives the boy a pat on the shoulder. “Thank you, now you stay out of trouble. And don’t accept handouts from gang members, y’here me? You’re gonna be in the Rainer’s situation real soon.” 

 

The boy scratches his head, but gives Jack a nod. “Okay, mister. Good luck, Duck ain’t too bad once you get to know ‘em.” Jack waves him off and sets off. The Trading Post, he said, should be close to Annesburg. He’s heard about that place, something about a shitty, run down town. He returns to Rachel, remembering to feed her some oatcakes, and saddling up, riding through the town, and back down south. “Yknow,” He says to the horse, “Helping people’s a waste of time, y’hear me? It’s all go here, and go there.” He complains.

 

And so, he’s out again, towards the Van Horn Trading Post.

 

By the time he’s reached Van Horn, the day’s faded into a setting sun, watching over Jack as he hops off Rachel a ways away from the actual trading post. He gears up, strapping his rifle to his back and making sure his hat’s on tight. He didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention as he walks through the dilapidated town, gutted buildings decaying by the second. Looking closely, he believes he can notice dried, old bloodstains scattered around the town. He swallows, approaching the Trading Post past the dock with extra care, fingers twitching close to his holster.  It’s the only building not as destroyed it’s neighbors, and Jack can notice the faintest light emanating from the cracks in the wooden walls. He sucks in a breath, halting as he hears voices. A woman, yelling, muffled and sharp, and a man. He stays there, waiting for anything to urge him to go through the door, but something keeps him from doing so. Is it fear? Anxiety? He can’t explain it himself, so he stands there.

 

A sharp slap echoes through the building, along with the sharp whine of the muffled woman, a thud onto the ground, and the laugh of men. Bitch, Jack hears, and that’s all that Jack needs. He unholsters his revolver, finger on the trigger, swallowing his breath, and forcing the door down with the heel of his boot, watching it swing open. “Hold it,” he demands, gun pointed towards the man standing above the woman he heard, her mouth covered with cloth. “Step away from the woman,” he says, the large, intimidating man raising his hands as he slowly backs away. Several of the goons within the building point their guns towards Jack, all ragged, scrawny boys.

 

“Where’s Duck?” Jack asks, and the large man snarls. “He took off, left us to watch this piece of work.” Jack glares at the man, and instantly he hates this guy. “That ain’t no way to treat a lady, sir.” Jack drawls, and the man rolls his eyes. Jack exchanges glances with the woman, her brow lowered, and determined. 

 

Jack turns his head back to the goons, most of their hands shaking violently, fear in their eyes. Jack realizes then and there, that these are gang members. They’re just pawns, boys trapped in something they thought they wanted. One of the boys, with a bruised face, swallows the lump in his throat, and Jack hears a click. His attention’s been taken away for only a second, and while he returns his gaze to the middle man, the pistol directed at him is a sign that he’s lost. With wide eyes, Jack is just about ready to die, and he realizes that his hand is shaking just as bad as the men he says are just boys, he isn’t any different than them. The woman, who may be more brave than him, sees the fear in his eyes, and gives him the boost he needs. She kicks, really kicks, the man’s feet, tripping the man over, and misdirecting his aim, firing off right into Jack’s right shoulder, and sending the large man tumbling to the ground.

 

Jack yelps, high-pitched and pained, as his free hand instinctively reaching to hold his shoulder, hand grazing the bullet wound, and spreading the blood against his palm, but he’s still standing, so he points his gun back up at the shaking men just as he begins to frantically breath, chest heaving. He blinks the tears away, and puffs his chest out again. The large man now on the ground groans, and reaches for the pistol, but the restrained woman kicks it away from his grasp, angering the man further. 

 

Jack pants out his only question. “Where’s Jo-” And one of the shaking “Gunslingers” grows trigger-happy, and pulls the trigger on his rifle with eyes squeezed shut, grazing Jack’s side, causing him to keel forward, The woman gasps, and Jack shoots the attacker right between the eyes, the terrified look frozen on the boys face as his brains spatter across his friends by his side, and he falls forward with a sickening thud. Jack wants to vomit. 

 

“And I’ll…” He pants, “I’ll kill all of ‘ya! Every single one of ‘ya!” He shrieks, eyes wide. 

 

The large man opens his mouth, hands drawn into fists, and screams. “Kill him, now!” He demands, and Jack ducks, as shotguns blast through the wooden walls behind him. He sprints to the woman, his good arm wrapping itself around her waist, and pulling her onto his shoulder, keeping his grip tight. He backs away quickly, shooting through the many men missing all of their shots. He barrels his way through the entrance he came through “You idiots,” he hears the man call, “Get the girl!” Jack darts across the docks, whistling with all the breath left in his lungs. Rachel is quick to respond, galloping through the street with a loud call. She halts, giving Jack enough time to apologize to the woman and throw her over the back of the horse, hearing the many men empty out from the old building. He jumps onto Rachel, spurring her loudly.

 

“Sorry,” He strains, “I’ll untie you when we’re out of here,” he pants, following the path he came from, and not ever stopping, the gunshots ringing out in the air, trying, trying so hard to rip right through Jack’s chest, but missing only barely. 

 

He’s panicking again, hands shaking around Rachel’s reins, and he begins to dry heave, having to slap a hand over his mouth as he rides as far as he can away from the Van Horn Trading Post, unbeknownst to him, held a very similar situation long ago, with the blood of that innocent boy now only a few feet away from the dried stains of Andrew Milton.

 

“Go,” Is all Jack can say, “Go,” he repeats, and he knows they’re a long way away, but he can’t help it. He tells her to go, and she listens. His shoulder and his side, surely bleeding, sting, oh God do they sting, as he forces breaths through his nose. In his head, he hears his mother’s voice.

 

_ “Deep breaths, Jacky,” His mother coos, “It’s going to be okay. Breath through your nose, and out your mouth slowly. Watch me, okay?” The boy had just watched his father kill two men in cold blood, his only solace in the arm wrapped around him. “Breath, Jack, breath.” _

 

He rides through the forest, not keeping with the path he had rode on, twisting through the trees. His mind is racing, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts-

 

The woman on the back of his horse squirms, and it reminds Jack of her existence. He quickly brings Rachel to a halt.

 

“Sorry,” He whispers, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Jack gently pulls the woman off the horse, taking her into his arms and letting her down onto the ground gently. “Sorry,” He says, as he works his way behind her, retrieving a knife and cutting away at the rope around her wrists, He winces at the red markings left around them, but shakes it off. He cuts the rope around her legs, and finally yanks the cloth out of her mouth, leaving her panting.

 

“I,” She groans, “Are you okay?” She asks. Jack swallows. “Ma’am, you were, You were just rescued from, from a hostage situation. Are you okay?” He can’t help his frantic way of speaking. 

 

She rubs at her wrists and gives him a caring look. “You were shot twice, son, let me help you.” She reaches out to him, and Jack can’t help but pull away only slightly, shaking his head back and forth. “No,” he says, “No it’s fine. Leave me alone,” He attempts a final tone, but she frowns. “Bullshit, boy. Come on, I’ll clean your wounds and patch you up.”

 

Later, the fire crackling softly and the light cutting through the night, the woman wraps the bandages Jack had packed up on Rachel under his armpit, over his shoulder, covering the now cleaned wound. Though it’s dark, the fire gives enough light for them to read each other’s expressions. Jack, brow furrowed and breathing through his nose, leaning forward with his legs crossed, and the woman, who Jack can now get a good look at. She’s older than him, her hair cut short in tight, black curls. She opens her mouth finally, ready to speak.

 

“So, why’d you come here?” She asks.

 

“I,” He stutters, clearing his throat. “I was looking for a hostage. Joey Rainer, he was taken by the Duck Gang.”

 

She blinks, and smiles. “So this Joey Rainer was also taken? Let me guess, his beautiful wife sent you?” 

 

Jack looks at her. “Yeah, she did. Wait,” He stops, beautiful? Wait,

 

And then, Jack actually begins to laugh, eyes squeezed shut as he clutches as his side wound. She shakes her head, chuckling softly. Jack opens his eyes, and sees her face, laugh lines defined on her face, and Jack knows she’s had a lot of time to laugh through her life. 

 

“You,” He sighs, “You’re Joey Rainer, aren’t you? Charlotte’s beloved?” She rolls her eyes. “Well, wife, but Charlotte’s always using those long lovey-dovey names. It’s nice to meet you.” 

 

Jack blinks, and responds. “I’m uh, Jack. Jack Marston.” 

 

Joey leans back, sitting herself on the dirt. “Well, alrighty then. You’re all patched up, Mister Marston.” Jack rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for kicking that guy down, I was sure I was dead.” She wipes her hands on her dress and nods. “He should’a known not to mess with a lady. Now, get some rest, you silly boy. I’m getting restless to hold my wife again.” Jack tugs his shirt back on, buttoning it up carefully. He knows he’ll have to be mindful of the wounds, but something tells him he won’t actually be careful. 

 

Jack offers for Joey to take his tent, as he only has one, and through persuasion, she agrees, while he sleeps outside with the horse. He takes a long swallow of his rum, relaxes slowly, and uses his worn jacket as a pillow as he watches the stars through the leaves, and though the pain in his body throbs, it’s something he can look past. He closes his eyes, and thinks.

 

_ “You killed a boy,” Mama, wait, “You killed a boy, Jacky.” It was in self-defense. “This isn’t what I wanted for you,” I know Ma, I know, I’m sorry. “Vengeance is a fools game,” Pa, stop, “Once you play, you can never withdraw,” It’s not my fault, Ross killed you, broke Mama’s heart, “You’re filled with rage, boy, just like me, and I can’t stand it,” I’m sorry. “Be a hero,” “John!” “Be the hero you want to be, but don’t let fear or anger guide your actions. You lost control, and you’re paying the price. Do what you can to fix it. I know you can,” “John, no, this wasn’t what we wanted. He’s let the ranch waste, everything we’ve given him, he’s throwing away on some effort to be like you,” “Jack, listen to your mother, don’t be like me. I was an idiot in my glory days, and I don’t want that for you, boy. Don’t be like me. Be you.” Ma, don’t cry, “I just don’t want to lose my Jacky to the mindset that destroyed Dutch, or M, it would kill me.” “He won’t be like that, I know it. Right, Jack?” … “Speak, boy!” _

 

“Ow,” Jack moans, eyes cracking open slowly, the bright sun greeting him harshly. He holds himself up with his elbows. He notices Joey holding her dress up, stomping out the fire below her. “Good morning, sunshine,” She says, and he gives her a quick wave. “Hey,” He says. He shrugs his jacket back on, then massages his shoulder gently. “Still hurtin’?” Joey asks, and Jack shakes his head. “Naw, it’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” 

 

He jumps to his feet, brushing off his jacket that must be covered in dirt. He notices Joey giving him a look. “What?” He whines, “You oughta clean yourself up, boy. You look like a mess. Your hair’s greasy, too.” He blinks, lips slightly parting. Was he just mothered by a woman he just met? “Thanks.” He groans. A gentle silence fills the air, as they both back up the camping materials onto Rachel, who’s probably thankful for the long rest. In the middle of it, Joey turns to Jack with a concerned look. “Are you alright?” She asks. He looks at her, confused. “What?” She pats his back. “You just have that look in your eyes, the kinda look that shouldn’t be in a boy your age.” He bites the inside of his mouth, and frowns. “I ain’t gotta tell you nothing, miss.” She crosses her arms, huffing, “You’re right, you don’t gotta tell me anything. I’m just hopin’ you don’t explode on me like you did on those boys.” Jack glares. 

 

“C’mon,” He says, ignoring what she said, “Let’s get you to your wife. I don’t wanna stick around to see if Duck’s searchin’ for us.” With everything cleared up, he helps her onto the back of Rachel, and mounts Rachel soon after. “You sure you’re fit to steer a horse?” Joey asks, and Jack brushes her off. “You’re full of all sorts of questions, miss. How does your wife put up with you, nosin’ around?” Joey snorts. “When you’re in love, you’ll put up with anything, son.” Joey puts a hand on Jack’s good shoulder for stability, and Jack gives Rachel a kick, cantering back to the natural path in the forest, ready to return the bride to her other half in the heart of Valentine. 

 

It reminds Jack of the cheesy romance novels he’d read when he was younger, the loveliness of it all. It’s in this moment, that Jack finds the appeal of being a gunslinger. The heroics, even when it wasn’t necessary. Jack could’ve just walked past Missus. Rainer outside the Sheriff’s office, but he didn’t. The times of the cowboy are dying, and the industrial age is in setting stone, but, to Jack, there will always be room for heroes, no matter the shitty, grave world he lives in. From the adventures to Uncle Arthur, no, King, to Penny Dreadful, no matter Jack’s fear, or sadness, it’s those stories that let him strive, hope to be like the man his father was, but he isn’t like his father, not at all. 

 

Joey makes small talk, more than Jack would prefer, but he indulges her. She asks where he’s from, he tells her a lie, because he honestly doesn’t know where he was born. He tells her born and raised in Blackwater, or at least, near there. She asks him about his parents, he tells her they’re back home, looking after the cattle. She asks him if he usually loses his cool like that, and Jack doesn’t answer, so he asks her how she met Charlotte, she tells him they met long ago, when they were both young girls, with a very tooth-rotting sweet kind of romance. She tells him they only just got married, and Jack congratulates her. 

 

Making their way through the forests, they make it to the prairies, where the bucks watch Jack pass by idly, and the coyotes are nowhere to be seen. Past the settlements, untouched by modern technology, past the ranches, and wading through the shallow rivers. Returning to where you started is always faster, Jack has found, and he can’t be thankful for it, because this woman is talking his ear off. He says he hates it, and on some level maybe he does, but it reminds him of the days in the ranch, where he would shove his nose into a book, and his mother would talk, and talk, and talk to him, something he couldn’t stand as a boy, now is a welcoming interaction. 

 

“So,” He starts, “Where do you two live?” 

 

“We live in a cabin not too far from Valentine, north-west, little blue house. We raise chickens.” She says that with a proud tone in her voice.

 

“You raise chickens?” He asks, and she nods. “They’re lovely ladies, if not a little sneaky.” 

 

Jack laughs, “Yeah, I know what that’s like. I’d accidentally leave the gate open, and my pa’d come out and try to wrangle them all together as fast as he could. Didn’t want ‘em near the horses.” 

 

“Never kept horses, only little Jessie. You scared the horses would trample the chickens or what?” 

 

“You ever see a horse eat a baby chick?” 

 

“They do that?” She asks, shocked. Jack nods. “Worst day of my life.” 

  
And so, they keep on like that for hours, talking about ranch life. Jack mentions he wishes to get rid of the cattle, and Joey offers to take them off his hands. Jack isn’t sure how to respond to her kindness, so he changes the subject. They talk about Charlotte, about home life, and about Jack’s sore shoulder, and for once, Jack realizes he’s speaking to a person he has no true affiliation with. This isn’t his mother, or father, it’s just two people talking, something he lacked growing up, and though it feels foreign, it feels right, and so, they keep on.

 

“Y’know, me and Charlotte, we wanna have kids.” She says eventually. Jack has the faintest of smiles. “Is that right?” She nods. “We have money to support them well, Charlotte’s smarter than most people, she’d of course be willin’ to teach them to read.” She explains, and Jack intervenes. “And what would you do?” She grins. “I’ll teach ‘em the most valuable skill of all. Takin’ care of chickens, of course!” And they laugh, and laugh. Something tells Jack they’d make good parents.

 

Hours and hours pass, and eventually, Valentine soil greets them, as they roll through the quaint town, and past the town, and towards the calm cabin surrounded by chickens Joey spoke so highly of. 

 

By the time they reach the cabin, it’s night once again, with no stars to greet them as Jack leaves Rachel unhitched outside the cabin. 

 

“She should’ve heard us, been out here by now,” Joey warns. “She could just be asleep.” Jack combats, but she waves it off. “No, no, the lights are on. Something’s up. I, uh, you go through the front, and I’ll go through the back.” “Are you serious?” “Do it.” 

 

He grabs his weapons from Rachel’s satchels, giving her a gentle pat, and suits up. He hands his rifle over to Joey. “I’m better with a revolver,” He tells her, and they nod to each other. 

 

Chickens cluck quietly, and the crickets chirp loudly as Jack sneaks up the steps to the door, his trigger finger itching, but he restrains himself. He won’t let himself freak out again, he won’t. He presses his ear up to the front door, something he didn’t actually have to do, as the loud glass shattering from within the house is enough indication of trouble. He barrels through the door, which sends pain shooting through his arm, as he points his gun towards whatever was past the door. “Hey!” Jack calls out.

 

The first thing he sees is the man, with the fanciest suit, and slicked back hair, standing about the woman he knew was Charlotte, hands behind the chair she sits upon, with the same serious gaze her wife had. The shattering had been a glass vase, scattering dirt and glass across the floor. The man quickly backs away, and Jack takes a step forward. He glances to Charlotte.

 

“You okay, miss?” He asks, and she nods. “That’s Duck, the piece of shit came for me when he caught wind of you.” 

 

Jack turns back to the man he now knows is Duck, smiling. “So, you’re Duck. Heard a lot about you, sir. Know you got a lotta kids indebted to you. People like you make me sick, takin’ advantage of stupid, vulnerable people like that. You oughta run to the hills now, you’re gonna leave these women alone, y’hear me?” Duck’s face contorts into a snarl, and Jack notices the piece on his hip, a large revolver. “The only people takin’ advantage of who are people like Missus Rainer, takin’ my money and runnin’.” 

 

He notices Joey, entering his eyesight as she sneaks carefully through the kitchen, and to the living room, where Jack and Duck stood. Keep him talking, Jack tells himself.

 

“This ain’t even your fight, kid. You ain’t even know these women.” Duck tells him, and Jack nods. “You’re right, but I ain’t gonna stand around and let innocent people get kidnapped and held hostage for mistakes.” Jack smirks at the man, easing his shoulders only slightly. “Bang.” Jack says, just as Duck feels a large rifle against his back. “Don’t move, or you’re dead,” Joey declares him, and Jack could laugh at the obvious bullets Duck’s sweating. Jack slowly approaches Duck, quickly disarming him of the revolver, and forcing the man onto his knees.  Jack hands Joey his knife, and she goes about cutting her love free. 

 

“Oh Joey,” Charlotte cries out, throwing her arms around Joey, “Thank God you’re safe.” Joey embraces her right back, giving her the sweetest kiss on the cheek. “You know I can’t be kept down for long. I’ll always be comin’ back home to you.” Jack almost lets himself get distracting, watching their reunion, but he averts his eyes, and points his revolver towards Duck.

 

Charlotte, with her arm around Joey, glares. “It’s better to just kill him. Be done with this for good,” Joey, with her palm against Charlotte’s back, gives Jack a concerned look. “You don’t gotta kill ‘em, we’ve spooked ‘em enough.”

 

And now, in the heartlands, Jack Marston has a choice to make.

 

_ “Be a hero,” His dream father told him, “Be a hero,”  _

 

_ His anger towards Ross, his anger towards the world, it’s raging through him, burning until there won’t be anything left but a hateful, cruel man. In these times, fathers, brothers, and sons will be pitted against each other in some effort to prove a point. In these times, the coyotes guide the wicked, and the bucks guide the honorable, and in these times, the canines will always rip their teeth through the flesh of the buck in their bloodlust and hunger, and in these times, sons become their fathers, and fathers mourn their brothers, and the game is renewed again. Vengeance is a fool’s game, because it will never be enough. Jack is a Marston, and a Marston is a Morgan, and a Morgan is a Van Der Linde, a fool’s journey to show the world that they are good men, proving it by death, violence, and robbery. The fathers and brothers will be pitted against each other, until everything they’ve built is destroyed, and the remains left to squander. A Marston is a Morgan, two brothers that threw their hands in the air and cried; “We’ve had enough.” The Morgan, Jack can only remember in faded memories, showed to the world that you can become a better man, that you don’t have to be a pawn in the game. Without this, The Marston would’ve never known he had somebody he could call hero.  _

 

_ “Be a hero,” Father tells him, “Don’t be like me, be you.”  _

Jack’s grip on the revolver tightens, and he watches Duck’s terrified eyes stare into his. 

 

And Now, in the heartlands, Jack Marston has his choice.

 

“All those debts, they mean nothin’ as of this moment. You go back to Annesburg, and you tell all those boys back home that they don’t owe nothin’ to you. You do that.” 

 

Duck nods his head frantically. “Got it?” Jack demands, pressing the tip of his revolver against Duck’s forehead, and Duck with his quivering lips, begs. “Yes, they don’t owe me nuthin’, they’re free men.” 

 

Jack nods, and by lowering his revolver, Duck has his free card, and he escapes from the Rainer household, and Jack is left to think. 

 

“Are,” He says, “Are you girls alright?” 

 

Charlotte nods, and Joey answers. “You did us a service, Mister Marston. You didn’t have to do that.” 

 

Jack shrugs. “I’m a wanderer, ma’am. I do what I can.” 

 

Charlotte smiles, kind and caring. “You’re a good man.” 

 

In another life, one might decline, say “I’m not a good man,” but in this life, Jack nods, and accepts the truth. 

 

And so, Jack turns around, ready to be on his way, but he’s stopped.

 

“Uh, wait,” Joey says, and Jack whips his head around. “Stay for dinner, at least, boy. It’s only polite.” Jack blinks. “Ma’am, it’s the middle of the night.” Charlotte giggles, and Joey declares to the heavens, “I haven’t had a proper meal in days, now shut up and sit down! Charlotte, be a dear and clean the glass up while I prepare dinner.” Charlotte kisses her wife on the temple, “Where would I be without my gracious cook.”

 

Jack, as awkward as a man covered in weapons, unwashed, and scrawny can be, trudges into the kitchen, leaving his rifle propped against the wall, and takes a seat, a new introduction to a home life, if only for a brief moment. He only hopes the boys in Annesburg are able to find their footing not being controlled by Duck, and he’s able to relax, and claim his title. A hero, for the moment, a real hero in the storybooks.

 

He’s not his father, He’s not the man who’d bully him when he was 4, he’s not King Arthur and his round table, he’s Jack Marston, a man recovering, and a man realizing that the warmth he felt when he watched Charlotte embrace her love because of what he did, makes him realize this is just what he needs to do.


End file.
